


Nothing quite like Love, nothing quite like the Absence of the Westermarck Effect

by rehliamonster



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Codependency, Coping, Culture Shock, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fontcest, Incestual Relationships, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Sad smut, Secret Relationship, Smut, Touch-Starved, Trauma Recovery, dark themes, realistic reactions to incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 04:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rehliamonster/pseuds/rehliamonster
Summary: "Or maybe you’ll find a nice girl, or guy I suppose, someone you’ll love and then privacy will be better. Fuhuhu! Shit, wait. Do you even know about the Whimsuns and the Echo Flowers?!”She looked between him and Sans with her one eye wide open.“But I have Sans to love,” he said, surprised at the words and the suggestive smile that came with it.-After being isolated and raised by Gaster as experimental weapons, Sans and Papyrus are not ready for the world.





	Nothing quite like Love, nothing quite like the Absence of the Westermarck Effect

**Author's Note:**

> This took me ages to write (I started this before summer!!) and was so frustrating that I ended up kind of hating it T__T I'm just glad it's done by now. Take it. Take it out of my hands...
> 
> [If you want to influence what I write next, check out my tumblr](https://rehliamonster.tumblr.com/)!

The room was white. 

White and clean and empty, a perfect cubus that contained within it only a single subject, and that was himself, just as white as the room. 

It imposed itself in its sterility, painted over his thoughts until they too were white and clean and empty. Blank. That was fine though. He was in his room, and in his room there was no need for him to think. He didn’t have to do anything. His favourite thing to do, if he had favourites: nothing. This was perfect. 

The walls and the floor were all padded, comfortable. The overhead lights were very bright. If he was being honest, they were almost too bright. But that was fine too. It was time to be awake, so of course they needed to be bright to prevent him from sleeping. It made sense and in any case, there was nothing he could do about it, so there was no sense in bothering with this fact. 

He knew that it had bothered him at some point. Immensely even. He remembered very clearly how he felt back then, his seemingly insurmountable rage at being locked in here, his hatred of the lights and the whiteness, the lack of windows, the absolute darkness at night, the lack of mental and physical stimulation, the lack of social contact, the lack of _anything_ that wasn’t him or his own thoughts. How he had screamed, begged, pleaded; how he had tried to rip this room apart even with a magic suppressing collar around his neck, how he had clawed and bitten at the padding and thrown his delicate body against the walls and the floor. It had been too soft to damage him, and too sturdy to be damaged by him. 

And eventually, it didn’t matter anymore. 

It simply was. 

White. 

Blank. 

Like him.

The clatter of the door disrupted his peaceful state of rest. 

“Come.”

He stood quickly, all traces of lethargy gone within an instant. There was nothing but obedience when it came to this voice. No other choice.

He stood next to the other outside of the room and waited until the door to the room was closed. Then he followed the other through the corridor, always two steps behind, on the left, as he had been trained to do. 

The destination was the largest of the laboratories, a huge room that had enough space for the testing of new attacks, training, and a variety of other things. 

He stood in the middle of the room. 

“Wait.”

The door closed behind him and he was alone in the room. 

Alone with the targets on the far side of the wall, alone with the computers and printers and measurement technologies behind him, alone with the hum and clicking of machines that, on some level, fascinated him. Alone with several shelves full of reference notes and other useful and interesting books. Alone with testing sheets and puzzle games that he liked to think about. Alone with his own power and will, in spite of the magic suppression collar.

He waited. Placid and motionless. 

The door opened again some time later and two sets of feet could be heard entering the room. 

He felt surprised. Very surprised.

How long had it been since the last time?

He couldn't quite remember. He had been small then. They had fought, that much he was able to recall, and they had been separated, which back then he counted as a blessing. In the following years, he had changed his assessment somewhat, out of sheer boredom, until it became irrelevant like everything else he felt and thought. 

“Stay.” 

Was that directed at him? 

He didn't know. For so long, differentiation had not been necessary. It had only ever been him and the other, and you and I sufficed to address each other. 

But now they were three. 

Three!

It almost felt crowded. 

The other touched his shoulder and pushed, making him turn around. He felt his sockets widen. 

Three. 

Him, the other, and the _third_ , one that he remembered as being so much bigger than him… 

He was small now. Sturdier underneath the loose white medical gown, although not as broad shouldered as he himself was. Perhaps tall enough for the top of that skull to meet his own sternum, perhaps even a little less. How could someone he remembered as so overwhelmingly big and strong look so small now?

“Listen, both of you,” the other said. “Designations. We will need them to distinguish each other. Like myself, you will be called after the shapes your words make when you speak.”

He straightened, his sockets trailed on the other now, not the third. He would not be distracted, not this time. The third was unimportant, not worthy to pay attention to, not worth fighting. He was obedient. He was good. He listened to the other. 

“I am Doctor Wing Dings Gaster,” the other said. “You may call me Doctor Gaster, or doctor.”

“You,” Doctor Gaster continued, pointing at the third, the small one, “are Comic Sans.”

He felt disappointed the third had come first. The third hadn't turned quite so fast to pay attention. He had been more obedient than the third. Why didn't he come first? But he quickly suppressed the thought, and the feelings associated with them. There was no room in his life for preferences or pettiness.

“You,” Doctor Gaster said, finally turning to him, “are Papyrus.”

Papyrus drew a deep breath, giving Doctor Gaster a single, dignified nod. Calm and patient as was expected of him. 

Inside though, his thoughts tumbled over each other. 

He had a designation. His very own set of sounds to be called by. 

Papyrus. 

It was _his_ and unlike his magic or toys or company or the third, it _couldn't be taken away_.

He had never owned anything so completely before.

He had never owned anything at all.

*

“You have been made to complement each other,” Doctor Gaster explained. “So far, your training has been focused on your capabilities while alone, due to your inability to cooperate at earlier stages of your cognitive development.”

The reprimand had both of them stand a little straighter, more so than usual. It was too late to change now anyway, but it was clear to Comic Sans that the doctor was not entirely pleased with their past behaviour, and would not hesitate to punish them severely if they failed to live up to his standards again. 

“That is now over. From now on, you will be expected to work together as a cohesive unit like you were meant to all along,” the doctor stated. “We are approaching the final phase of your training and development before you will be presented to the royalty and expected to perform your duties. We will go over the results of the previous phase, and then begin testing several configurations for team combat I have devised based on your individual proficiencies. Once you have gained a better understanding of how your abilities are meant to slot together and once you have learned how to cooperate properly, you may suggest configurations and strategies of your own, which I will review before we test them. Now, to recap.”

They'd had several training sessions together already, but that had mostly been Comic Sans or Papyrus demonstrating their powers against the targets at the end of the big lab, while the one who wasn't training watched and memorised the magic and bullet patterns. They had been ordered to observe and memorise the abilities of the other in preparation, but had received no additional information until now. Only one of their magic suppression collars had ever been disabled. It had never been both of them together; today would be a first for that. Comic Sans wasn't sure what to think about that yet, although he supposed it didn't matter much. It didn't. 

“Comic Sans has deeper reserves of magic,” the doctor said. “He has access to instantaneous spatial movement to evade attacks and confuse enemies. He can wield cyan and blue magic, with all gravity effects of the latter focused outwards. Another magical effect is that of karmic retribution, an ability which will sap energy from an opponent who has accumulated levels of violence. Finally there are the Gaster blasters I have given you and bone bullets, which can be summoned in great amounts and combined into complicated patterns. Magical strength is poor. Magical control is good. Stats and health are poor.”

There was a niggle of annoyance at having his faults listed so openly, but he ruthlessly stomped it down. No disobedience. 

“On the other hand, Papyrus has reserves that are not quite so deep,” the doctor continued. “No access to instant spatial movement. He can wield cyan and blue magic, and is able to use the effects both on himself and on his opponent, although the manipulation on the opponent can only increase gravity, not alter it. No karmic retribution ability. Gaster blasters and bone bullets can be summoned in great amounts and combined into complicated patterns. The pattern variety and control here is superior. Magical strength is excellent. Magical control is outstanding, I would go so far as to say that the amount of precision displayed can be called unique. Stats and health are very good.”

Papyrus was preening, although he tried not to show it. Comic Sans thought it was silly of him. The whole point of the doctor’s monologue had been to list their weaknesses so they knew where to cover for each other. They weren't meant to take it as a compliment. It wouldn't usually be something he bothered to think about, but they were meant to work together now. Bad behaviour by Papyrus would reflect badly on him too. 

“In other words, Comic Sans has larger magical reserves and a broader variety of abilities in exchange for health, strength and constitution, while Papyrus has fewer abilities but is overall more robust and able to do more direct damage. These will be points that you will always have to keep in mind and make up for as you work together. Now,” the doctor said. “Get into position.”

Comic Sans and Papyrus both walked up to the usual spot from where they would shoot at the targets while training alone. They were both eyeing each other out of the corners of their sockets, sizing each other up. 

Papyrus was so tall...

Comic Sans suddenly wondered why they were so differently sized. They had both been made from and by the doctor, based on the same material and modified to suit their purpose. So why were they so different? He knew it wasn't for him to ask those questions, but they sometimes seemed to rise in his mind regardless of how hard he tried to suppress them. He had so many questions all the time, despite trying to stop having them like the doctor wanted. He hoped the doctor wouldn't notice. He wanted to be good, he didn't mean to be so nosy. 

“We will begin with pattern intermixing...” the doctor said. 

They began. 

It wasn't easy. In all the time he had existed, Comic Sans and Papyrus had only ever worked alone. Comic Sans didn't know what it was like for Papyrus, but he himself had trouble anticipating the other's movements and intentions, even though he had spent some days watching how the other used his magic. It was clear that they were still far from being the cohesive unit the doctor wanted them to be. He felt a faint hint of sweat beading on his skull that had little to do with exerting his magic. 

They had to work well together. 

They _had to_.

“Stop,” Doctor Gaster said. Both of them tried to look as if they weren't nervous. Both failed. The doctor continued without minding their insecurity. “You are doing well to leave gaps in your patterns to work together. However, your timing is off. Attack patterns have a rhythm that you should follow. The rhythm can be broken up once you have more practice, to confuse the enemy. But for now, find your rhythm and use it.”

They tried again. 

And then again. 

And again. 

By the end of the day, both of them were exhausted and desperately in need of rest. For Papyrus, it seemed that the magical exertion had drained him, whereas Comic Sans felt the physical exhaustion from having moved so much. Just like the doctor said. They did make some progress, managing to match their patterns to create one big attack pattern whose parts interlocked as neatly as pieces of a well-crafted puzzle. But it was the result of very careful consideration and planning, and a single misstep or unknown variable would throw them off beat and the entire thing would collapse. 

“Good. You have done well,” Doctor Gaster told them. Comic Sans barely stopped himself from falling over in relief. “Now that you have managed a first pattern, we need to practise and work on your general cohesion. You are spending too much time thinking about what you are doing; something you will not be able to afford during a true fight. Your reactions have to be automatic. You have to react instinctively, without even having to consider it, and yet work together in harmony.”

Comic Sans had no idea how they were supposed to do that. He didn't need to of course, the doctor would tell them. But he had a hunch that he wouldn't like whatever was about to hear, and unfortunately that hunch turned out to be correct. 

“The three factors necessary in order to achieve this are practise, time, and familiarity. We will practise daily and with enough repetition, the patterns will become automatic and easy for you, something so well-known you will be able to do it in your sleep, so to say. As for familiarity…” The doctor paused and regarded both of them with a stern gaze. “I made both of you. You are brothers. I did not raise you together due to the difference in health and whenever I introduced you to each other and tried to have you get along, you fought. You disobeyed me.”

Comic Sans couldn't help himself, he hunched his shoulders up at the reprimand, even though he couldn't bring himself to look away from Doctor Gaster completely. He felt Papyrus shift next to him, unease evident in his motions. 

“I was unable to establish a positive relationship between you two. Unable to have you grow up together as I intended. You were too wilful and obviously not yet ready for such a drastic step.” Doctor Gaster sighed deeply, and Comic Sans and Papyrus winced, fully expecting further punishment. “However. You are grown up now. I have raised you to be obedient, loyal, calm. I have instilled in you the importance of sacrifice for the greater good. Have I not?”

“Yes, Doctor Gaster.” 

They spoke as one, not a single tremble of fear out of sync. The doctor seemed very pleased by this. 

“As a result, I expect you to catch up now on what you have been missing out on before. From today onwards, you will share a single living space. I have prepared a new room for you. You will not return to your old rooms, nor will you engage in behaviour designed to have me isolate you. You will spend the entirety of your time together, from your training, to your meals, to your sleep. You will be pleasant to each other. You will cooperate. You will not fight. You will be brothers,” the doctor ordered. 

Comic Sans didn't know what to say, except he did. The only thing there was to say at all, echoed by Papyrus next to him. 

“Yes, Doctor Gaster.”

*

Papyrus didn't like this.

He liked this even less than he thought he would. 

The new room they shared counted as everything he used to dream of: the lights were softer, it had an actual bed, albeit one without any hard surfaces or corners. There were pillows and blankets, and more pillows on the softly carpeted floor to sit on. There was a blackboard with pens they could use to draw out ideas for attack patterns. There were even a few books, three to be precise, about puzzle construction, magical theory, and one about humans. It was still a very white room, with the only spots of colour being the black of the blackboard and the black leather bindings of the books. It contained him and Comic Sans. His… brother.

It was too much. 

Papyrus _yearned_ for the empty simplicity of his previous room, where the only sounds were the ones he made and the only sights were the ones he imagined. He felt overwhelmed by the sudden abundance of different items, of textures and smells and presence. Sure, it was less than what he'd see in the lab, but the lab was the lab. He was used to have this amount of stimulus only briefly, and then he would return to his empty and clean and white room and his thoughts would go blank so he could recharge after the shock of stimulation. 

Now, it was constant and he felt deprived of the opportunity to rest. He held perfectly still like he used to when he was alone, and so did Comic Sans, but they could hear each other breathe and the shifts of their bodies against the fabric of their white smocks and the carpet or the pillows or blankets, depending on what space in the room they were currently occupying. 

“It's loud,” Papyrus said into the silence, his own voice sounding odd to him.

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Papyrus knew they were supposed to engage with each other, get to know each other and talk, but he had no idea how to do that. He didn't know how to be brothers. So far, barring the few disastrous times where Gaster had tried to force him and Comic Sans to cooperate before, he had only interacted with the doctor and there he wasn't required to think about what to say. He just needed to follow what he was told. 

That had been so much easier. 

“You used to be,” Comic Sans said suddenly, only to immediately look around with faint guilt despite the fact that the doctor wasn't here and they were allowed, even encouraged to talk. “Loud. Louder than now.”

It wasn't quite a question. The doctor didn't like questions. The doctor also didn't like commentary though, and this was definitely commentary. But how else were they supposed to do this?

“And you used to be quieter,” Papyrus nodded. “I had a... lesson. On appropriate volume and precision of language. You too.”

“Yes.”

And they were silent again. 

If they were to familiarise with each other then… would it be okay for Papyrus to ask questions? It felt like a radical thought, and not one he'd have under usual circumstances. Try as he might though, he couldn't think of any. Neither could Comic Sans apparently; at least he didn't ask any, or speak up again. Eventually, they silently moved to sleep, climbing into the bed with awkward hesitancy. Sleeping something so soft raised above the ground felt foreign, even though the bed was so low that Papyrus would barely be able to fit a hand in the gap between the frame and the floor. The slats also meant that the mattress was far more comfortable than the padded floor of his room had been, leaving him to lie with his sockets wide open while he tried to ignore that he felt uncomfortable regardless of how he positioned himself. 

The lights went out shortly after, signalling that they hadn't been presumptuous to settle in for the night. Still, Papyrus found himself lying awake, his mind and body unable to settle. He needed to sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day again. It wasn't good if he couldn't rest, he had to find some way to settle down -

He startled when he noticed the rhythmic shift of the blanket and smock next to him, the soft noise of rustling fabric that he had only ever heard himself make until now. The deepening of a breath into a heavy panting. 

He turned and stared, only barely able to see Comic Sans’ face in the dark. He had his skull tilted back into the pillow with his sockets closed and his mouth hanging half open. A mild cyan blush was spreading on his zygomatic arches, casting a faint illumination that didn’t quite manage to dispel the dark. 

The glow from his crotch that bled through the fabric of the blanket was cyan as well. 

“Doctor Gaster told me that’s something we’re only supposed to do in private, not in front of other monsters,” Papyrus pointed out, quite helpfully as he thought. Perhaps that lesson hadn’t come up between Gaster and Comic Sans yet, and so if he said it now, he might spare his brother some trouble. That was the correct thing to do among brothers, wasn't it?

Comic Sans flinched briefly, although he didn’t stop his motions. He grunted, eyes still closed. 

“We’re not monsters.”

“I know that, but…” Papyrus hesitated. It was true, they weren’t normal monsters. They were artificial weapons so he was not sure if it counted or not. He eventually decided on, “it seems private regardless.”

“L… look away then.”

And he sped up. 

Papyrus knew that he probably _should_ look away, but his sockets seemed to be glued to the glowing patch of blanket where Comic Sans’ arousal was shining through, the one that was shifting up and down with quick, confident movements. 

“It looks shorter than mine,” he observed after a while. 

That had the other laugh, a low, rumbling and breathless chuckle that seemed to vibrate through the barrel of his ribcage until it made its way over to Papyrus. Comic Sans turned his head and opened his sockets only marginally, a lazy bedroom look that unexpectedly made something coil in Papyrus’ own hollowed chest. 

“Oh?” Comic Sans asked, voice clearly heavy with arousal now. “Do you want to go and make comparisons? A little experiment?”

It came as a shock, the sentence spoken with a kind of mirth and challenge that Papyrus had never heard before. The doctor didn't speak like that. _They_ couldn't speak like that. Comic Sans faltered immediately after saying it, holding his breath. 

Papyrus wasn't the doctor though. And they were meant to get closer. Brothers, whatever that meant for artificial not-monsters.

He reached out until his hand bumped against Comic Sans’ iliac crest underneath the blanket, staring into his brother's eyes the entire time. The bright pips of light hovering there widened at the same time as Comic Sans’ sockets flew from half-mast to wide open. Papyrus brought his hand up and over until he could push his brother's hand away and take over, mimicking the rhythm the other had set. 

It was warm. It felt unusually, unnaturally warm and it occurred to Papyrus that this was the first time he had touched somebody other than himself in… he didn't know how long. Years. Endless years and years. It made his hand prickle. It was good.

“Oh that,” Comic Sans huffed. “That - “

“What.”

This was his own challenge; the question was calm and almost dry. 

It seemed Comic Sans was done making fun of him for now though. And he was clearly ready to go on with it too.

“Feels a lot better when it's someone else doing it,” he groaned, the blush on his face rising. He was squirming under Papyrus’ efforts. Did being touched make Comic Sans feel as wonderful as touching made Papyrus feel?

“Since we learned something new, does it actually count as a test?” Papyrus asked, idly, genuinely curious. His arm didn't feel tired yet and the pace Comic Sans had set wasn't as fast as the one Papyrus tended to use for himself, so he sped up. Stopping now was out of the question. 

Any reply Comic Sans might have had for him vanished under the moan. 

It was, surprisingly, not in the low and deep voice that he had come to recognise as natural for his brother. Instead it was slightly higher, smoother, softer. His hand fisted the cuff of Papyrus’ smock and Comic Sans’ eyebrows were scrunching up in what Papyrus would assume to be agony were it not for the fact that he could feel his brother come underneath his hand, twitching with his release. His usually closed off face was open and unguarded. Vulnerable.

He looked… beautiful. Papyrus hadn't known other monsters could look beautiful and he certainly hadn't expected Comic Sans to look like that. He had alway disliked him, in the rare moments he thought of their meetings in the past when they had been children and constantly fought whenever the doctor tried to have them get along, until he stopped. 

He didn't know why he did it, but there was something warm and soothing about touching Comic Sans, the novelty of feeling somebody else under his phalanges, so he leaned forwards and pressed their foreheads together. Bone against bone, smooth and comforting, it was everything right and good in the world. Their breaths mingled, heated and wet, the smell of chalk and the neutral toothpaste the doctor had them use. Letting go of the cock in his hand, he moved upwards and began exploring the bones under his phalanges, the pubis and the iliac crest, the lumbar vertebrae, the lower arch of the ribcage, until he came to rest on the sternum. He could almost feel the warmth of the soul there. 

Comic Sans sighed under the touch, and Papyrus repeated it. It almost ached, to be so close. He hadn't known this would be something he would want, but now that he experienced it he knew that it had been missing all his life, and that he never wanted to be without it again. 

Doctor Gaster had instructed them to get closer to each other. To fall into sync. To be brothers. But he hadn't instructed them _how_. They had only ever been taught the definition of the word - male relatives born from the same parent. Doctor Gaster hadn't said a thing how such a relationship was supposed to work beyond that and of course asking was out of the question. That was all on them, and Papyrus felt that he should check if it was the right approach. Risky, but this wasn't the doctor, and he needed, he _needed_ to hear if he would be allowed to do it again. He didn't know what he would do if the answer was no. 

“Did you like it?”

Comic Sans blinked his sockets open and close as they were, Papyrus could see that his eye lights were soft and wide and fuzzy. It stirred hope in him.

“Yes,” Comic Sans said. Papyrus felt an odd tingle in his ribcage, something warm and prickling that he didn't experience very often. He… felt happy, hearing that his brother liked it. Even top of his own relief at being allowed, he was happy that his brother felt about touch similarly. 

“Do you want it too?”

Papyrus perked up. Would it be as good as touching? He was curious about it. 

And since for once, that curiosity wasn't something punishable, he agreed.

*

They fell into step.

It wasn't what Comic Sans would have turned to as a solution, but it was undeniable that it worked; they needed to become familiar with each other and find a rhythm to work together, and their nightly activities provided both very effectively. They learned more about each other in both a physical and an emotional sense. Comic Sans couldn't imagine that the doctor wasn't monitoring them in their room via cameras or other means. So he must know, and he didn't say anything about how they chose to go about his orders. Which meant they must have done it correctly, and that was a relief. 

He had to admit he wouldn't like changing the approach. Papyrus looked amazing with that blush on his face. Plus, the noises he made were funny and Comic Sans liked that too. 

More importantly though, it made him feel… it was… 

His language lessons hadn't prepared him to express what he felt. 

Like a puzzle whose final piece was slotted into place, like an attack finally executed to perfection, like closing the cover of a book after memorising it. The rightness of that. That was the closest he could come, but it was so much more too. He felt filled, with warmth and something soft, even though that made no sense since the inside of his ribcage was clearly still as hollow as it always used to be. He felt his brother's touches linger even after they separated, so that hours after the last touch the sensation of strong phalanges on his bones was still there. It was irrational. 

It felt as though his life had come to depend on it. 

They would take turns touching each other every night, but they also added to it, exploring their bones and wrapping their arms around each other and pressing their bodies close together until it made their bones creak and touching their genitals together and moving like that. They were all good. 

Every touch was perfect and pleasant. 

It made talking easier too, somehow. They both hadn't been touched in so long that they understood how overwhelming it was, and so understood that asking if something worked or not, if it felt good or not, was important. From there, other conversations could finally follow. They read the books in their room - clearly if Doctor Gaster had left them there they were required to - and talked about it, what they thought about it, and from there about their thoughts in general. Their training sessions became easier and faster, more enjoyable as they began to work in tandem and their attacks and movements began to slot perfectly together. It was as Doctor Gaster said. Through practice and familiarity, it became so simple that they would be able to do it in their sleep. 

Until they were told they were ready. 

They didn't feel ready but the doctor prepared them carefully for it anyway, instructed them on the proper etiquette, the right addresses, how they should stand straight and strong but lower their gazes unless specifically asked to look up, how they shouldn't speak unless asked, how there could not be a single misstep since their entire lives, all those years, had been in preparation for this moment and what came after. 

They were dressed in uniforms, something much more upscale than their usual smocks. Led through a set of doors they had never been through before, and took an elevator upwards, their first time riding. Comic Sans clung to the railing at the side, determined not to show his discomfort at being moved without his own input. Papyrus seemed to fare better. Then they were led along a corridor, white shifted to soft grey. They heard a great deal of noise from a distance, like a murmur of more people than they had even thought to imagine in one place, smelled things that were foreign, felt a draft on their bones. It felt like… outside. 

But the doctor had imparted on them the importance of good behaviour for this visit and so they did not look up, stared only at the grey stone floor and their feet. 

Tiles in gold and ochre followed the grey stone, awash in golden light. Wooden floors at some point and then, finally, they stood in a field of golden flowers that smelled fresh and sweet and they heard the doctor and another, unknown voice - 

“Your majesty. I am here for the presentation.”

“Gaster! There you are. Please, I have told you so many times to simply call me by my name. Would you like a cup of tea? No? How about your assistants?”

The voice was deep and bassy, but pleasant. It still came as a shock. They had never heard anyone but the doctor and each other speak. They had never been in the presence of anyone else. 

“No, thank you. None for them either - they are not assistants. They are the constructs I told you about.” 

They bowed in unison, silently. Comic Sans felt awed at the amount of pride he had heard when the doctor spoke. He rarely sounded proud of them, and never like this. 

“Begin,” the doctor ordered, stepping away. 

They looked up, briefly catching a glance of overgrown walls and soft light and a very, very big monster, before they honed in on the conjured targets hovering in front of them and began. It was going well, Comic Sans knew it, could feel it as he and his brother worked in perfect harmony, magic and movements as fluid and easy as they could be. The targets were obliterated in no time, as were the tougher ones that followed, their attack patterns without a single flaw. When it stopped, they turned, bowed again, and spoke for the first time as previously instructed. 

“At your service, your majesty.”

Perfect. It had been perfect. Comic Sans felt pleased that they lived up to the doctor’s expectations, that they proved that he was right and justified to be proud of them. 

“Gaster,” the king said. Comic Sans couldn't quite place his tone.

“As you can see, they have been trained well,” the doctor said, apparently taking the single word as a prompt to explain himself. “They are strong enough to take on any human that might fall into the Underground while being able to evade attacks on them. Their training has prepared them. They will be able to find, engage, and defeat the humans, and collect their souls for the benefit of monsterkind. I have trained them to be obedient and loyal, and focused on the greater good. Breaking the barrier with science proved to be impossible - but I could at least do something that will help us do the necessary faster. They will complete what you started and free us from our prison.”

Silence followed. 

Comic Sans heard footsteps approaching and braced himself. The doctor had prepared them for the possibility that the king might want to take a closer look at his new tools. He saw a massive paw enter his field of vision and shortly after felt the fingers rest underneath his jaw. His head was tilted back so he had to look up at the king, but despite the insistence of the movement, the touch was very gentle. 

The king looked sad. Comic Sans didn't understand. Why did the king look so sad? Had they not been perfect? Had they done something wrong after all? He felt sweat break out on his forehead and on his bones. 

“Gaster, what have you done?” the king asked. 

“I began with a magical nourishing solution surrounding a cast, wherein I used some of my own essence in order to create two artificial souls - “

“ _Gaster_ ,” the king said, and now he didn't sound friendly anymore. “You promised me weapons. Constructs. These are… they have souls. They are monsters.”

“I can assure you they are not,” Doctor Gaster protested. 

“I can check them,” the kind stated. “It is not possible to check anything but monsters and humans.”

“Your majesty - “

“Leave. My guards will escort you to a room. You are to wait there until I come to question you,” the king instructed. “It the meantime, I will speak to these ‘constructs’ of yours alone.”

“But - “

“Now, Gaster.” 

The finality in the tone barely hid a seething anger. Comic Sans could not see the doctor as the king still held his face, but he heard reluctant footsteps, a door opening and closing. And then silence.

“Please do not be afraid,” the king said, his voice now far softer and more quiet. “I know you must be confused.”

The king looked at them, and they looked back. Comic Sans felt as though his soul was bursting with shame and fear. This was not supposed to happen. This hadn't been the plan. They had failed. He had been so proud, and they had failed…

The king sighed. 

“No questions? Then I shall begin. What are your names?” 

A question. An order to follow. Perhaps they could make up for their earlier failure somehow?

“Comic Sans,” he said quickly but clearly. 

“Papyrus,” he heard his brother add. His voice was steady on the surface, but Comic Sans knew him better. His brother was scared, too. 

He suddenly wanted nothing but to hold Papyrus, to hide his face against Papyrus’ ribcage and forget about the world and all their troubles. 

“My name is Asgore,” the king told them. “I know Gaster must have told you about etiquette and titles… but I would prefer for you to treat me like I was a normal monster.”

Comic Sans stared at the king and didn't know how to react. Did the king want them to treat him like the doctor? Or like they treated each other? But it was the king. So it would be better not to be too casual.

“Yes, Asgore,” he heard his brother say, apparently having come to the same conclusion. 

“Yes, Asgore,” he joined in. 

“Please tell me. What do you think of doctor Gaster?”

The question made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to answer. But he wasn't allowed to evade a direct question. Not in general and especially not from the king.

“He is strict, but he trained us well.” That was the truth. But not all of it. The doctor had trained him not to give partial answers. “I used to hate him. He often scares me. He wants us to succeed but some of what he teaches us is difficult to follow. I am afraid that he will punish me again… or my brother.”

“Yes,” Papyrus agreed. 

“I see. For what would he punish you, and how?” the king wanted to know, looking sad. 

“For asking questions, not following rules and orders, for fighting with each other, for not listening to him properly, for failing to perform expected tasks or failing to put enough effort into them, for not following appropriate social behaviour, for being too loud or too quiet, for not replying to questions or only giving partial answers and for failing to understand his teachings,” Papyrus explained. 

“To punish us he would put off the lights in our cells, deny food, immobilise us on a gurney for days, force us to stand at stare at a wall for several hours, hang us upside down in a supply closet, forced us to drink hot sauce until we got sick, locked us in a small instrument box, deny us sleep, deprive us of any sensory input, inflict -”

“That is enough for now,” the king said and Comic Sans stopped. He didn't understand why the king sounded so grave. “Let's see… I need to speak to Gaster alone. Is there anything you like to do? I cannot yet let you rest, I am afraid I might have to ask you questions again. How do you like to occupy your time?”

Comic Sans was breaking out in sweat more and more. There were too many questions he either didn't know how to answer or was uncomfortable answering. How was he supposed to turn this disastrous outcome around if all the questions were like that? 

“Training…?” he tried, thinking that perhaps the king would like that. He didn't actually like training all that much. It was only recently when he and Papyrus managed to execute perfect attacks together that he felt a little more positive about it. But it had occupied his time and he was _supposed_ to be a weapon for the king, even if this monster was being so dissatisfied with their performance, so maybe if they trained more…

“Of course,” the king said, sounding sad, indicating another failure. “What else would the answer be? But of course that is not your fault. None of this is. Please, you do not need to worry about that anymore. You are capable and strong, there is no need to train further. How about I have my guards bring you some books to pass the time? Can you read? Yes? Then let us do that.” 

Comic Sans barely managed to suppress his tremble as several guards led him and Papyrus out of the throne room just as the doctor had been escorted out. He didn't know what was going to happen and that scared him. Everything had happened differently than the doctor said and that scared him too. Perhaps if he read those books the king spoke about he could make it better. Perhaps if he memorised them they would finally pass the inspection. Perhaps… 

But what had that been about something not being their fault?

He didn't understand.

*

The past few hours had been the most confusing of Papyrus’ entire life.

Doctor Gaster was gone, and they were apparently supposed to live with the king as the doctor had told them they might. But unlike what they had been told, the king said he wouldn’t order them to patrol for humans or use them in other ways that required their fighting prowess. Instead, they would be talking to a lot of people - the king himself, doctors that were very different from Doctor Gaster, something called a therapist who would want to know a lot about what they were feeling. Papyrus and his brother were both wary of this prospect. But they couldn’t tell the king that, of course.

Stranger yet, the room they had been provided with was filled with superfluous objects. Sure, there were two beds and a closet. A bookshelf. That was normal. But the room was _not white_. It had colours on the carpet and walls. Pictures on the walls on top of that, for some reason, as if there wasn’t enough decoration already. Imitations of monsters and other objects in a box, which the king called toys. Papyrus thought they looked interesting, but he knew better than to show this of course. It was a strange room for them. Outside rooms could look like this, perhaps. But not their room. Never theirs.

With the promises of more information and talks in the morning, the king had ordered them to go to sleep, in whichever bed they wanted, and told them not to leave the room at night unless there was an emergency. He told them not to worry, they were safe now. Then he left. Papyrus had no idea what either of these things was supposed to mean. When had they ever not been safe before? And what counted as an emergency here? Well, of course they’d just stay in the room regardless. Going out after their caretaker had ordered them in was unthinkable. 

“Brother?” he asked, his thoughts racing with everything that had happened. 

“Yes?” 

His brother sounded just as awake as Papyrus felt, obviously unable to sleep after the upheaval in their lives as well. 

“What… happened?”

It was the only question Papyrus could think of that came even remotely close to encompassing how unusual this all had been. They had been told how this was supposed to go, and reality didn't match. Now, in encounters that was where they had to get creative and come up with new solutions. But outside of an encounter? It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to follow orders and then things would be okay. 

“I don't know. We must've done something wrong,” Sans sighed. 

Guilt washed over Papyrus, and fear. 

“But the king said…” he paused, letting the scene replay in his head. “He said it's not our fault.”

“I know.” His brother sounded just as confused as Sans felt. They had been taught not to doubt their authority figures. But they had also been taught that any mistakes were obviously their fault. Now they didn't know what to believe. “It's confusing.”

“Maybe he'll tell us tomorrow,” Papyrus mused. “When all those people are supposed to talk to us.”

“Maybe.” 

They laid in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to predict what the next day might bring. Not that they could - after today had already proven their predictions moot, there was little reason to assume they would be more accurate from now on. 

“Papyrus?” 

Comic Sans’ voice was quiet and soft, questioning. Papyrus knew what he wanted immediately. He lifted his blanket in invitation, glad his brother asked. Comic Sans didn't wait for long, instantly getting up, crossing the short distance between their two beds, and climbing in next to Papyrus. His stocky body curled around Papyrus’ larger one, pressing as close as possible. 

Papyrus turned to his side so he could properly wrap his arms around his brother, completing the embrace. 

There was no need to say that they were scared. They both knew. Everything they knew and were familiar with had been upturned. Everything except them. 

When Papyrus lowered his head, his brother was already waiting for him, his face upturned and mouth open, waiting to be kissed. 

They took their time, slowly building the intensity until they were both left breathless and warm, wanting. 

Usually, his brother tended to be the more passive one between them, at least when it came to this. But tonight he was all movement and action. He pushed Papyrus back and rolled on top of him, taking direct control of how things would proceed. Papyrus let him, merely placing his hands on his brother's hip bones to steady him. He knew Comic Sans needed this. 

They both summoned their cocks in perfect unison, as if they were attacks and this was training. The pants of their pyjamas were quickly pushed aside, allowing the conjured flesh to come into contact. A hiss emanated from both of them, and they both tried to suppress it, to keep quiet. 

The doctor had been very strict when he taught them that any acts of this manner were private and not to be heard and seen. Even if back when those lessons happened, they had been satisfying themselves alone and not together, the lessons stuck like everything else and held up even now. Nobody should hear them. They bit everything down. 

Comic Sans began to grind on Papyrus, dragging their lengths against each other. Precome slicked their shafts from the tips, lessening the friction and easing their movements. 

Papyrus bucked up only minimally, suppressing his naturally higher energy to let his brother tire himself out. He was rewarded for his efforts when Comic Sans bent forwards, bringing his mouth close to Papyrus’ skull so he could softly moan into his acoustic meatus. 

“Pap…”

It was enough to shake his body with an immediate orgasm, spurts of come soiling the front of his pyjamas while he bit into the pillow to keep quiet. His brother followed immediately after, his hot and sticky cum joining the mess. Not a very comforting feeling, and not one Papyrus would usually tolerate. Tonight it was different though. He let the magical fluids slowly dissipate, let his brother rest on top of him, catching his breath for merely a couple of minutes before he started again. Papyrus understood. He understood the desperation behind it, fuelled by the confusion and fear of their upended lives, the desire to cling tightly to the one thing they had that promised security and comfort and familiarity. 

Papyrus kept moving with him, matching his brother pace by pace for three more shuddering bursts of pleasure until his brother finally collapsed into his arms as a sobbing heap of bones, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted. Only then did Papyrus carefully hush him, only then did he get up and fetched and handkerchief to wipe them both down a little, only then did he change their clothes. 

He climbed back into bed and wrapped himself around his brother again. Comic Sans felt heavy and sleep-warm, already dozing off in the wake of his exhaustion. He wasn't fully gone however. Not gone enough to miss Papyrus’ gentle caresses. Slowly, Comic Sans traced his phalanges over the smooth arch of Papyrus’ clavicle, a minimal sort of movement that was nevertheless caring and full of love. 

That made it so much easier to fall asleep.

*

The next day was as overwhelming as Comic Sans and Papyrus had expected it to be. Comic Sans didn’t like the people they were talking to. He didn’t like the questions they asked, he didn’t like the underlying condescension emanating from everyone, the implications that their lives up until now had been terrible and wrong somehow, that _they_ were terrible and wrong somehow.

It made him want to do nothing but wrap himself into layers and layers of silence.

Did they deserve his words, his truth, when they didn’t take him seriously? 

It was a blasphemous thought. He tried to banish it into the deepest parts of his mind, where it belonged, where the doctor had taught him to keep it. But… 

“You don't have to speak, if you don't want to,” the doctor said. No, not _the_ doctor. Just a doctor. Similarly knowledgeable though it seemed, considering she had caught him hesitating over a question. “We respect it if there are topics that are too uncomfortable to you. We only want to help.”

Comic Sans eyed her, trying to gauge the truthfulness of the statement. The doctor had sometimes dangled similar baits in front of him, only to punish him when he took it. He wasn't supposed to ever give in to the temptation. Was this just another test then, to see if his resolve would hold up away from the direct influence of the doctor? Better not to risk it, right? 

On the other hand, she had asked him about him and his brother. What he thought about his brother, what their relationship was like. He could see she wanted to know if they only pretended to get along, if there was anything wrong with them. He hated that, couldn't let it stand. The thought of seeing the telltale signs of distaste on her face directed at Papyrus in any capacity made something in his soul snarl. Yet the doctor had also taught him about the inappropriateness of certain topics. 

And so perhaps… leaving out that one facet would be safe to test. He had a good excuse for leaving it out after all. One he could use and reasonably point to if she caught him leaving something out. 

He trembled. 

“I love my brother,” he said. “We didn't get along at first but now we do.”

There. 

A simple statement. And he didn't tell her about how exactly the fights went that they used to have, how the doctor had to keep them separated for their own safety. And he didn't tell her how the doctor ordered them to work together. And he didn't tell her how they found a way to make that order into something good for themselves. And he didn't tell her about kissing Papyrus, or holding him, or the feeling of their cocks grinding against each other in a rush of heat, the soft clicks of warm bone touching. 

Too much. 

He had left too much out, he was being _bad_ , he couldn't breathe, he was choking on the words he didn't say he needed to _say something_...

“That's good to hear,” the doctor called a therapist told him with a kind smile. “Having family you can count on is such a wonderful thing. Especially during such difficult times.”

Did she know? Could she tell? Was she just going along with the lie? Was she pretending to be okay with it? Would the punishment follow?

Comic Sans couldn't tell. He couldn't tell even though he was trying so hard to read the truth on her face. 

“I left something out,” he informed her, the knot in his chest loosening somewhat at his admission. He kept looking at her face closely, trying to register any little twitch. 

“Like I said, you don't have to tell me anything,” she said. Her tone remained friendly. Was it real? The look she gave him back seemed just as calculating as he felt. “Is it something harmful that you left out? Harmful to you or your brother?”

What a question. 

He thought of yesterday, of how his brother allowed him to take the lead, how they calmed themselves down with their closeness. How stabilising it felt. How safe and warm. 

If it was harmful, they both wouldn't do it. Why punish themselves? They were meant to work together. Comic Sans would never hurt his brother. Not after he discovered how wonderful it feels to have one connection in his life that made him feel good. That he could trust. Even if it was initially forced on him to get along. It was different now that they had made this their own. 

“No.” The honest truth. 

“Then,” the doctor told him, “I have no business knowing. Unless you really want to tell me. Like I said, I only want to help. We all do.” 

He didn’t trust her on that, but he nodded anyway. It felt safer to agree. He took enough of a risk here already, and he felt lightheaded and wildly dangerous with it. It was strange that he followed the impulse at all. He thought it had been driven out of him completely and it was such an important thing to keep to himself too. The key to their success, how they worked together.

“In any case, I think we should take a break here,” the doctor told him. “It's time for lunch, don't you think?”

Comic Sans nodded obediently and got up with her, even though he felt surprised. Food already? They hadn't even done much. Shouldn't he train and expend energy first?

He followed her out of the room and back to the king’s living room, where she left him before she went somewhere else. He didn’t ask where or why. She told him to wait here and so he did. After a few moments, his brother and the king joined him, together with another monster. Undyne, was it, the head of the royal guard. She had questioned him earlier this morning, rough and loud and pushy.

He didn't really like her. 

“What a headache,” she groaned as she sat down, taking no care with how her armour banged against the wood of the table. It left another scratch. Comic Sans subtly glanced at the king, waiting for him to punish her, but there was no punishment coming. Not even another admonishment. 

Instead, he served them… 

What was that? 

He found Papyrus staring at the plate in similar befuddlement. 

They both looked at Undyne and the king. The captain of the royal guard had already started to wolf down what she found on her plate, but the king was staring back at them. 

“Are you not hungry?” he wanted to know. 

Comic Sans and Papyrus looked at each other. 

“We are not used to much food,” Papyrus explained. “And we have never eaten anything like this before.”

Comic Sans nodded, although the new food intrigued him.

They'd had bread before, in the lab like they did this morning. Nutritional bars in the lab, oatmeal, all the time. But this? This was food they had only seen on pictures. It was food for actual monsters, not weapons like them. 

A plate of noodles with a light red sauce, oily and greasy. It smelled strongly of spices and other unknown things. Not unpleasant, but unusual. 

“Oh. Well, would you like to try it?” the king asked.

Papyrus almost seemed ready to wait for other food to be offered, it was clear that this wasn't healthy fare after all, unsuited for weapons that had to function, like them. But Comic Sans, emboldened by his earlier experiments with radical disobedience, grabbed his fork and carefully rolled up some of the noodles on it like he had seen Undyne do. 

He was very aware of the gazes on him as he took a bite; the expectant curiosity of the king and Undyne, interlaced with pity, and Papyrus’ scandalised glare. 

The food touched his palate and flavour exploded on his senses. 

He could feel his sockets widen, he almost gagged on the intensity of the tastes, but he forced himself to keep it in because in spite of the strength of it, it was so good. It was complex, there were so many aspects to it, and the oil seemed to enhance the flavours only further. 

“It's good,” he choked out once he finished chewing and swallowing. He only felt somewhat ashamed of the tears stinging at the corners of his eye sockets. Who cared about tears at such a discovery. This was incredible! “Really, really good.” 

“Comic Sans!” Papyrus scolded him, still scandalised. 

Across them, Undyne snorted into her noodles, thumping a fist against her chest to stem her laughter. Both Papyrus and Comic Sans looked at her in confusion. They didn't get what was so funny. 

“Undyne.” The king's voice wasn't unkind in his sudden admonishment. 

“Sorry,” she cackled. “It's just… Comic. And he's such a serious guy. Who names their kid comic anyway!” 

“Undyne!” The king's voice was slightly less kind now and she stilled. 

So did Comic Sans. 

All the joy over the flavourful food left him in an instant. 

Strange. Weird. Abnormal. Everything about him and his brother was seen this way by these new people. It didn't matter what he and his brother did, these new monsters always put them down. Even their names were unacceptable now. 

“Uuuh, I'm sorry,” Undyne said. 

He shrugged and nodded. She was the captain of the royal guard, favoured by the king, and he was nothing. He was only a weapon and shouldn’t care about the opinions of others with regards to him to begin with. She didn't have to apologise to him. She only apologised because the king wanted her to. It was meaningless. 

He still didn't feel like eating much more though and when the meal was finished, both he and Papyrus left large amounts on their plates. They were not punished for it, the king merely told them to wait in their room until the next round of talks to guards and doctors. 

Couldn't they just be done already?

“Brother?” Papyrus asked. “What's wrong?”

“I'm tired. I'm tired of how they treat everything about us as bad or strange,” he mumbled.

“They can treat us however they want,” Papyrus reasoned. “We are their weapons.”

A frown built on Papyrus’ skull. 

“Even if they don't seem to like that…” he paused before he took Comic Sans in again. “Is it about your name? I did think that was very rude. Our names were the first things we owned all for ourselves. But maybe she didn't know that. We could explain it to her.”

“I don't want to tell her,” Comic Sans whispered. “I don't want to tell them anything anymore…”

Silence spread between them, shocked and heavy. 

“Brother. We have to answer them. We cannot leave things out,” Papyrus said with obvious concern.

“I did,” Comic Sans confessed, wincing when his brother gasped and stared at him with his mouth hanging open. 

“What did you…” Papyrus seemingly couldn't even finish the question. He looked agitated and nervous. 

“I was asked about us,” Comic Sans explained. “What our relationship was like. And I was tired of everything we said being viewed with revulsion and pity and… I didn't want them to think about… us that way. About what we have. I didn't know how the doctor would react but I could see that for every other question I answered she thought it was bad. And she said I didn't have to tell her things. So I didn't tell her. I just said we used to not get along but now we do.”

His words got faster and faster the more he talked, until he felt breathless by the end of it. Papyrus still seemed flabbergasted at his actions. 

“Brother, they will know you left so much out! You will be punished!”

“She said it would be alright,” he insisted, feeling petulant and stupid all of a sudden, not quite able to justify his decision as well ass he would have liked. He couldn't put into words what exactly had ridden him to disregard his education and training, to dismiss the possibility of a trick or a trap like he had been taught. 

Papyrus looked skeptical, if sympathetic. 

“Do you want to tell them?” Comic Sans challenged. “Watch them pretend this is another bad thing that made us suffer?”

“Maybe it won't be like that,” Papyrus argued. “You can't know that.”

“Neither can you.”

“A single day, brother. We have been here for a single day, we can't ignore what we've been taught after only a day - “

“I'm not saying that, not everything, just…” 

It felt like all the energy suddenly went out of him, all the adrenaline of keeping something to himself, the elation of the food, the anger of being ridiculed for his name. All of it. It suddenly seemed so pointless. Their surroundings were different, but it was misguided and stupid to behave differently because of that. 

“You're right. I'm sorry, Papyrus. It doesn't matter what they say. I guess I was just scared and upset because nothing is like we were told it would be… and I got us both into trouble for it…” His shoulders drew up and he let them, knowing that when it was just him and his brother, proper posture wasn't important and so he could indulge. “I will tell them and take responsibility.”

Papyrus laid a hand on his shoulder and drew him closer. 

“No. I understand being confused and upset. But we're still brothers. We're meant to work together. So we'll take the punishment together too, like one.” Papyrus hugged him, and felt tall and strong around him. “I will not tell them either. And then they can punish us together.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. But I will do it regardless.”

Sans felt himself relax a little. He wasn't alone. His brother was with him, supported him in spite of his mistakes and lapse of judgement. He didn't know why, but it made him feel warm. It almost felt as if his soul was expanding. The only thing that had ever come close to this was when they had been together at night. He hadn't known he could feel like this outside of those activities too. 

He liked it.

*

It was as if their lives only ever got stranger.

Papyrus wasn't sure what to think of it. Nobody ever mentioned the topics he and his brother chose not to elaborate on, and he increasingly felt insecure if it was really a prolonged test or if the monsters interviewing them genuinely didn't know or care. His brother leaned towards the latter, but Papyrus wasn't so sure. They didn't dare to try and refuse to elaborate on other things, so it was hard to tell. 

Many things were hard for them to navigate, and there was little they felt they could do about it. 

Instead, they took comfort in each other's presence, staying close during the day and patiently waiting until the night began and they were alone in their new room before they did their brotherly bonding. The doctor had told them this was a private activity after all. 

So many monsters kept telling them to disregard the doctors orders. 

Few of them offered alternatives to what they were supposed instead. 

Papyrus was used to the empty nothing of his white room and a strict schedule of testing and training on top of that. The loose structure his days took now, filled with people and tasks he had never encountered before, wore on him and his brother equally. 

But what else were they supposed to do?

They had nowhere else to go, no other plans, no alternatives. 

This had always been the only thing they had worked towards, to serve their king. Even if it was turning out so differently, they had no choice but to go along with it. 

They still trained whenever they found the time, dutifully continuing since the importance of it had been instilled in them from a young age. The king seemed oddly reluctant to let them, but eventually caved and paired them up with Undyne herself, who had been tutelage by him personally after all. Papyrus thought she was pretty impressive; his brother understandably liked her a little less thanks to her remarks about his name. 

Even though she never repeated them, is brother still ended up dropping the ‘comic’ part, going only by Sans now. Another radical decision that had been oddly encouraged by their new owners. It felt strange, but Papyrus respected the choice, and so did everyone else somehow. 

They were taught other things when they weren't training or talking to people. Sciences, but more in depth than that which the doctor had deemed important for them, in addition to subjects like history, music and art, ecology of the underground… Sans quickly took a liking to the cerebral activity, but Papyrus liked them less. Training to capture a human was what he had been meant to do and he enjoyed the exercise. Why stop and do something else? 

The most shocking thing though was when the king carefully brought up the topic of their future and, after several hints that they did not understand, outright told them that it would be best for their development if they moved away from him. They had to learn how to be their own monsters away from his influence, apparently. 

Papyrus couldn't understand why or how. 

They belonged to the king. Telling them they had to be their own monsters simply didn't make sense. 

But the king ordered them, and so they began looking for housing in a part of the underground that was far away from the castle. Undyne was helping out, while the king refused and stayed away during the times they looked at the newspaper advertisements. He didn't want to influence their choice, Undyne said.

“Best thing I think is if you rent somewhere for now,” she explained, papers spread on the table between them. “It’s probably good for you if you two stay together for a bit, but eventually you’ll want your own place. Siblings can be annoying. Or maybe you’ll find a nice girl, or guy I suppose, someone you’ll love and then privacy will be better. Fuhuhu! Shit, wait. Do you even know about the Whimsuns and the Echo Flowers?!”

She looked between him and Sans with her one eye wide open. 

“But I have Sans to love,” he said, surprised at the words and the suggestive smile that came with it. 

“Fuhuhu, so the answer’s no, huh? Figured. Yeah, you’ve got Sans, but he’s your sibling,” she cackled before Sans got got a word in. “That’s a different kind of love. I mean I guess there’s some weird human movies about siblings banging each other, but ugh, _gross_!”

Papyrus immediately and deeply hoped that she didn’t see him freeze, that the cold running through his bones wasn’t visible from the outside. He thought of the nights he had spent with his brother, trailing his phalanges over sturdy bones, of their heated breaths and the desperate kisses that had lit his soul up until it seemed to be burning, bright and strong and beautiful. He thought of Sans’ moans and the way he shuddered when he came. 

All of that disregarded by someone he admired with a single word, one that made her opinion all too clear.

Gross. 

He hadn’t known that. 

But then Sans had suspected it, hadn't he? Papyrus didn't look over to his brother, thinking it safer not to give any hints. He would have to apologise later. Sans had been right all along. Having someone degrade what they had hurt. If they had told anyone about it… who knew. Maybe they would have been separated. 

Cold panic seized his soul at the thought of having to be away from Sans on top of everything else. He already found it so difficult to adjust. Monsters thought him weird, didn't like him, no matter how hard he tried to be what they wanted him to be. It was hard to understand what else he could do to make them like him. If they didn't, how was he supposed to be ‘normal’ like the king and Undyne wanted him to be? They had taught him and Sans much about monster society, but not much about making friends. It was frightening. He was sure he wouldn't be able to do it alone, if he didn't have his brother to help. 

He _needed_ Sans. 

Thankfully, Undyne had already launched into an explanation of sex, allowing them to pretend that their surprise was because they had been uninformed about that instead of the fact that siblings, apparently, weren't allowed to do these things. 

Thankfully, it seemed like she didn't notice a thing.

*

They looked it up on the undernet as soon as they had moved out.

There was no guarantee their connection wasn't watched, that they weren't watched even so far away from the castle, but it was still a better idea than searching for something apparently so controversial on the king's own computer. Even though everyone really did seem to want to help them. And they had learned, shortly before they moved out, that Doctor Gaster had been sentenced to several decades in prison for ‘unethical experimentation, prolonged abuse and general crimes against monster decency’ for how he raised them. 

So there was that. 

Here in Snowdin Town, nobody seemed to know them. They had been given jobs as sentries so they could integrate better and earn money to pay for their things, the official story being that Papyrus had begged Undyne for a long enough time that she had let them in. From what they could tell, the king did have an interest to let them be who they wanted to be. 

Sans didn't know how they were supposed to figure that out and neither did Papyrus, but he supposed they'd have to learn. 

He just wished they could openly be themselves in all aspects. 

“The children would be malformed,” Papyrus pointed out while they unpacked the items they had been given, taking in their donated furniture. Old things, already well-loved and telling a history that wasn't theirs. They would have to add to it over time. 

Children, yes. That was information that had been on the very dry website, and of course it was placed prominently, worthy to consider, understandable, that one would consider the fact that children might suffer in cases like theirs. 

“We can’t even have children,” Sans muttered dully. 

“Oh. We can’t?” Papyrus was obviously surprised at that fact. 

“No. I read the lab reports after the king told us about… the sentence,” Sans explained, hesitating over how to address the doctor now. He was so used to paying him respect, but apparently it was undeserved. It was apparently confusing as everything else. “Figured it couldn't hurt to see what he wrote down about us. Wasn't much. Just biological facts and test results. Some psychological profiles. But mostly biology and fighting. Turns out we can change our genitals ‘n shit alright, but he made us to be infertile, fuck knows why.” 

“Well, in that case… Can’t we just… tell them that?” 

Sans looked at his brother, loving and sad at once. 

“I don’t think it would make much of a difference.” 

He hated seeing Papyrus falter like that, his hope snuffed out. His brother didn't deserve that. But it was better than lying to him, having it come out and being shunned. 

“So we have to keep it a secret?” Papyrus asked. “Always?”

“We can be together while we're alone at least,” Sans told him. “Here in the house.”

It wasn't what he or Papyrus wanted of course. Better than nothing, but not what they truly desired. 

“I suppose.” Papyrus sounded worried and insecure. He was glancing at the windows, where they had the curtains drawn but from the outside, the crunch of feet and murmured conversations could be heard. The monsters of Snowdin going about their life. 

Sans knew his brother had put more and more effort into getting along with other monsters recently, but it didn't work out for him. He didn't know why. Sans merely imitated Undyne’s casual attitude a little, threw in some word play he had learned of from a book, and watched closely for what reactions he got. Matched the name Undyne had mocked him for that he now didn't use, and became a comic. It worked just fine. Sometimes it was even fun. 

That only made it harder for Papyrus to struggle. And now this. Another difficulty.

“Does that…” He didn't want to ask this, but he had to. Being selfish in this case was not an option. Not when it might cost Papyrus his chance at happiness. 

He had to. 

“Does that make you wanna stop?”

Papyrus’ head snapped towards him so fast it gave Sans whiplash. If his brother had looked worried and sad before, he now looked devastated. 

“No! Never! Do you?!” Papyrus’ hands were half raised, stretched towards him, as if he wanted to reach out but wasn't sure if he could. 

“No. I just thought I should ask,” Sans said, grasping his hands and rubbing them gently, soothingly. “I don't want to make it more difficult for you, with other monsters.”

“I don't care about that as much as I care about you,” Papyrus insisted, pulling Sans closer until they were hugging. Sans leaned in and enjoyed feeling his brother's sturdy body so close. He wasn't alone. 

Papyrus wouldn't leave him. 

Hands rubbed over his shoulders, his spine. 

He pushed into the touch, slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of his brother's pants and stroked the bone there. Leaned up for a kiss. 

They stumbled back until Sans’ legs hit the couch. Papyrus pressed him down into the cushions, covering Sans’ body with his own. It felt warm as always, safe. Their movements were slow and careful ands if they were discovering each other for the first time. Nothing was hastened, nothing rash. Papyrus’ large hands roamed over every inch of bone on Sans’ body, while Sans himself focused on Papyrus’ lower spine and sacrum and pubis, being ever so gentle with the sensitive bone there. 

He had to bite back his moans, reminding himself that he had to be quiet - he would _always_ have to be quiet, would never be able to let go again like he could in their room in the lab. 

“Sans,” his brother moaned against his skull, his voice all whispers and breath. Warmth and affection in the tone. Love. He didn't care that other monsters thought they were ignorant about true love, that other monsters thought he and his brother couldn't know what it was. The others were the ignorant ones. “Sans, Sans…”

Loving, secret, silent touches and voices. 

Sans came with a shudder into a kiss they shared and thought it was all worth it.


End file.
